


Scarecrow and the Tsar

by Shorina



Category: Scarecrow and Mrs. King
Genre: Anal Sex, Captivity, Chastity Device/Cock Cages, M/M, Sex With Prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorina/pseuds/Shorina
Summary: Lee Stetson is abducted from his flat by a Russian spy called the Tsar. But what does the Russian want from "Scarecrow"?





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Babie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babie/gifts).



“Good afternoon, Scarecrow. Keep your hands where I can see them, please.”

Scarecrow freezes for a second, then turns and spots me sitting comfortably in his living room. Well, he spots both me and his gun in my hand, which prompts him to lift his hands just above his hips.

He's quite a sight, 'clad' with only a blue bath towel wrapped around his hips, his hair still wet from the shower that allowed me to sneak into his flat unobserved.

“Tsar,” he says coolly, but I'm not sure it's meant in greeting or plain recognition. “I didn't know you're back in the country.”

“Tsk. Your people are slacking down.”

“I'll make sure to kick them into gear.”

“That'll have to wait, I'm afraid. First you're going to go on a little trip with me.”

Scarecrow looks himself down. “I might be a little underdressed for a trip.”

I get up and motion him towards his bedroom. “Sit,” I order and he obeys, sitting on the edge of his bed. Shifting his gun to my left hand, I open his wardrobe and pick out some clothes. A pair of jeans flies in Scarecrow's direction and he catches it. I also pull a shirt off its hanger and throw it at him, then reach for a pair of sports shoes, put them on the ground and give them a kick to slide them over to the bed.

Scarecrow looks at me expectantly but I close the wardrobe door. “That should do.”

“You expect me to go commando?”

“I expect you to get dressed. Quickly.” I shift his weapon back to my right hand.

“Okay. Can you at least turn around and give me a little privacy?”

“Scarecrow, don't insult me by trying something like that on me.”

He shrugs and stands. Unfortunately he puts on his shirt first and buttons it before he drops his towel. I'd have liked to catch a glimpse of his crotch, but it'll have to wait. There'll be time for that later on. 

When he sits back down to put on the shoes, he asks, “Where are we going?”

“You'll know when we get there.”

“Ah.”

I spot a leather jacket draped over a chair and reach for it, quickly patting down the pockets. They're empty so I throw the jacket onto the bed next to Scarecrow.

Once he's fully dressed, I motion for him to head for the entrance door. He reaches for his keys in passing.

“Don't.”

He withdraws his hand.

I grab my coat in passing and drape it over my arm, hiding the gun, then pick up his keys and inspect the bunch of keys. They're just that, so I throw them at him. “Lock up behind us.”

He obeys and as we leave the apartment building, he turns towards his car. No, his flashy sports car will draw too much attention.

“We're taking my car. You're driving.” I hand him the keys to the rented Chevrolet I parked across the street and nudge him in the direction.

He unlocks the car. “Don't try anything foolish,” I hiss at him and quickly head for the passenger door while he slides in behind the wheel. Once we're both seated, I pull out a pair of handcuffs and close one end around Scarecrow's right wrist, the other around the wheel.

“I don't think that counts as safe driving,” he states, checking how much he can move his right hand.

“It'll do as long as you don't go over the limit.”

He adjusts the rear-view mirror with his left hand, then fumbles with the key in the ignition. It proves a little tricky with his left but he manages.

We drive in silence, interrupted only by my directions. I guide him out of the city, and soon we're bumping across an unpaved road into woodlands. Admittedly, the car isn't ideal for this ground, but it was fairly unobtrusive for following him through the city streets the last couple of days.

“Taking the scenic tour, are we?” he asks but I ignore his question.

“Take the next left.”

Another fifteen minutes, mostly due to the fact that we're crawling more than driving along the washed-out road, and we arrive at a small cabin I rented for exactly this purpose. It's far removed from civilization. 

I turn off the ignition and pull the key before I unlock the handcuff on the wheel. He holds his hand out to me, obviously hoping I'll also remove the handcuff from his wrist. “Get out.”

I climb out of the car myself and, now that I'm sure no one is watching us, push him toward the cabin.

“Alright, alright, I'm going. Just say the word,” he complains.

He wants orders? Happy to oblige. “Hands behind your back,” I order when he stops at the door.

He looks at me over his shoulder but obeys, and I quickly close the handcuff around his left wrist, then put the gun away and pull out the keys to the cabin instead. “You wanted to know where we're going? This is it.” I hold the door open for him more out of the need to keep an eye on him than an attempt at being polite.

“So this is your dacha? Quite nice, Tsar.”

Obviously he hasn't spotted the cage in the corner yet. I need to change that, so I flick on the lights.

“Intending to go big game hunting?” he comments, still acting cool.

“I already caught my prey.”

“Then it must have escaped. You shouldn't have left the cage door open.”

He's starting to get on my nerves with his stupid comments, so I roughly shove him to the cage door. Inside is only one item – a chair. I push him towards it and pull his arms over the back with one hand while I press on his shoulder with the other. “Sit.”

I prepped the chair with straps for his hands and feet. As he's still wearing the handcuffs, I start with his feet before I remove the cuffs and also strap his wrists to the chair.

He tests the bonds, but of course they're not giving an inch. This new situation seems to annoy him. “What do you want, Tsar?” he hisses at me.

Him. In more than one way. But I'm in no hurry. Right now I just want him to shut up. “You talk too much, Scarecrow. Did no one teach you that silence is golden?”

Of course I'll want him to talk – later. I intend to let him stew for a while first. So I walk away and lock the cage door behind me. To my surprise he actually keeps his mouth shut.

Picking up a book, I make myself comfortable in a rustic armchair by a window.

“How long do you want to play this game?” Scarecrow asks after a while. He's probably getting bored.

“Shh.” I don't bother to look up from my book.

“At least give me some water.”

“You haven't earned any.”

A sigh comes from the direction of the cage and inwardly I smirk.

“Okay, how do I _earn_ water?”

“Obey.”

“Obey what?”

I lower my book and look at him as if talking to a very slow pupil. “Not _what_ – who. Me.”

“But you're just sitting there reading.”

“I would be if you were obedient.” Come on, Scarecrow. You're one of the best the US has, so don't act dumb.

“Right. You want me to shut up.”

I neither confirm, nor deny his statement, just lift my book again and continue reading.

An hour later I put the book away and get a bottle of water from a shelf. Alerted by my movement, Scarecrow's eyes follow me around the room. He's still not saying a word, though. Good boy.

I unlock the cage and walk up to him with the bottle. “See, that wasn't so hard,” I praise him as I uncap the bottle and hold it to his lips. I only allow him to drink a little, though. One hour of silence really doesn't deserve too much praise.

There's something he wants to say, I can see it in his eyes, but he holds back. Yes, this might actually turn out to be a rather pleasant assignment they've sent me back for.

I let my eyes roam over him appreciatively. He's an attractive man and I intend to find out if the intel that he's not _only_ a ladies' man is correct. But I'm sure that's not something he's going to admit to easily. Which suits me just fine.

But it's too soon to go down that path. So I leave the cage again and lock it behind me. 

As it's getting late, I decide to prepare dinner. The little kitchen is out of his line of sight, so he doesn't see me checking up on him every now and then while I work. He must be hungry, I suppose, and the smell of cooking filling the cabin probably only makes it worse. Good. He can go without food for a while. It'll only make things easier for me when I have something he wants.

I take my dinner to the table which _is_ in his line of sight. Pretending to ignore him – I'm always keeping an eye on him out of the corner of my eye – I start to eat. I make it halfway through my meal before he speaks up.

“How about sharing?”

I look at him sadly. “Tsk. And you had been doing so well.”

Apparently my expression – or words – make him angry. “Cut the crap, Tsar. What is it you want from me? Why did you bring me out here?”

“I told you what I want – obedience. And you're not doing yourself any favors with that behavior, Scarecrow. Where are your manners?”

“In the same drawer as my underwear,” he shoots back.

“Let me know if your jeans are too uncomfortable. I won't mind if you want to remove them.”

That earns me a nasty glare. He'll cool off soon enough. As will my dinner, so I continue eating before it does. No more water for him today, though. He forfeited the right to any more with this behavior.

At least he lets me finish my meal and do the dishes in silence. After that, I pick up my book again and read some more before deciding on an early night.

Scarecrow glares at me when I check his bonds before turning in for the night. I'm not sure how much sleep he'll get in this position, but the less, the better. Exhaustion will make him more pliable.

I turn off the main lights, leaving just the lamp above his cage on so I can easily check on him, then get into my bed that's in the corner behind the cage.


	2. Day 2

The sunshine coming in through the window wakes me up early the next morning. Too bad, I was just having a very pleasant dream. But as I turn, I see the object of my dream sitting on the chair, head hanging forward. Apparently he has managed to fall asleep. Oh well, I wasn't trying very hard to keep him awake. It won't be too restful, though, not in that position.

I head outside, both to relieve myself and deal with the hard-on the dream left me with.

By the time I return, Scarecrow has woken up and looks at me with wary eyes.

“Good morning, Scarecrow.”

He doesn't reply. Sighing, I explain. “I actually do expect you to reply when I address you.”

He looks away instead.

“And here I was thinking that you might like some breakfast, but apparently not.”

His head whips back around, but only to scowl at me.

With a shrug, I go to get fully dressed and set about preparing breakfast. I'm doing Blinis, the Russian equivalent to the American's pancakes.

Once I ate, I reach for the water bottle and head into the cage. “At least you've been quiet, so you've earned some more water.” Again I hold the bottle to his lips and he swallows it greedily. I let him have some more than yesterday, but again not too much.

I put the bottle down and walk around him once, twice, stopping in front of him. “So, shall we try again? Good morning, Scarecrow.”

“What do you want, Tsar?”

I slap him in the face, then repeat my greeting.

“Get lost.”

Another slap, this one splits his lip. He spits at me, but I saw that one coming and take a step back in time.

“Why do you make this harder than it needs to be?” I say with sorrow in my voice. Rhetorical question.

“Why don't you just let me go,” he retorts. There's still too much fight in him, I realize, so I shake my head and leave the cage, lock it, reach for the car keys and head outside. I get in the car and drive off, only a short distance, though, then I park and walk back. I'm not leaving him alone, but I'm happy to let him think I do. I sit on a bench outside the door where he can't see me, but I can hear what's going on inside. 

It sounds as if he's struggling against his restraints. He's only going to hurt himself that way. And even if he did get out of them, there's still the cage. It's very sturdy, I know because I assembled it myself.

But he's using up energy with his struggling, which is exactly what I want.

The occasional curse sounds from inside and I smirk. “No, Scarecrow, you're not getting away that easily.” Of course I'm only muttering under my breath, I don't want to alert him to my presence.

After a while things quieten down. He must have realized he's not getting anywhere. I wait another half hour before I walk back to the car and officially return.

“Good day, Scarecrow,” I greet him as I enter the cabin.

“Hello, Tsar.”

A little too informal for my likes, but I let it pass. He's making an effort after all. I stand outside the cage and consider him for a minute or two. Yes, he has been struggling, I can see how red his skin is around his wrists and ankles. I can see no blood, though, so it seems he hasn't managed to hurt himself too much.

“It's a lovely day outside. Too bad you're missing out on it.”

“Not by choice.”

“Ah, that depends on your point of view.” If he'd been more cooperative at our last meeting, we wouldn't be here now. I'm quite glad we are, though. I can't help it, having him at my mercy is a turn on for me.

Unaware of my thoughts, he gives me a quizzical look.

“Tell you what – if you're going to behave well for the rest of the day, you'll not only get dinner, I'll even let you stretch your legs a little.”

He takes a deep breath, but nods. 

“Good. Seems we have a deal.”

I head back out to the car and fetch a bag from the trunk. It clatters as I set it down, which draw's Scarecrow's attention to it. I can see the curiosity in his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut. Well, I'm not going to satisfy his curiosity just yet and leave the bag where I put it down. Instead I make myself comfortable with my book for a while. But my thoughts wander off...

Is someone looking for him yet? Have I covered my tracks well enough? There are no signs of a struggle in his flat, I removed the bugs I had planted before he stepped out of the shower and I wore gloves the whole time. The car is rented in a different name from the cabin, both paid in cash. Yes, I should be safe. Even if someone saw us drive off, the car is a common model. No one will remember seeing it anywhere around town. I picked it exactly for its ability to blend in.

So even if someone is aware that he's missing, which wouldn't surprise me, I expect he regularly needs to call in, they'll have a real hard time tracking us.

I look up to find him studying me. Did my thoughts show on my face? Or maybe he only noticed I haven't turned a page in a while. It doesn't matter.

Satisfied that we should be safe out here in no-man's-land, I return my attention to my book.

Before I start preparing dinner a while later, I walk to my bag and get some items from it: A collar, a chain, and two padlocks. I enter the cage with the items in hand, Scarecrow's eyes follow me. I loop one end of the chain through a ring I placed around one of the top bars of the cage when I assembled it, and secure it with a padlock. Then I place the collar around Scarecrow's neck and lock it and the other end of the chain in place. The chain will allow him to move around the cage, but not to leave it. I measured it accordingly it.

He doesn't make a sound while I work, but he flinches a little as I lock the collar around his neck. Don't worry, my pretty Scarecrow, it won't strangle you, just keep you where I want you. I head back out and get something else from my bag. This time it's padded cuffs, connected by a short chain. I place them on the table, in his line of vision. A promise of increased freedom of movement.

He seems to get the idea and sits still while I prepare dinner. Soup today, a spoon is a lot less dangerous than a knife after all.

When it's nearly done, I turn the heat down and pick up the cuffs. “You've kept your end of the deal, I'm keeping mine.” I release his right hand first, inspect the wrist but can see no damage, so I put the cuff in place, then do the same with his left hand.

“Thank you,” he says as he tries to loosen his sore shoulder and neck muscles. His voice sounds a little rough, it's been a while since he last drank. The soup will replenish his liquids to some extent, though.

I nod in acknowledgment of his words and kneel down to release his feet, making sure to keep to his sides so he can't easily kick me. Not that it'd do him any good, I have none of the keys on me and he can't leave the cage. But you never know, I don't buy his cooperative attitude just yet. I expect he's going to try something sooner or later. 

For now I return to the kitchen and fill a soup plate for him, reach for a spoon and take both to the cage. He's holding on to the bars, shaking out his legs a little, so I leave the plate on the chair. “Enjoy your meal, Scarecrow,” I say and retreat to fetch my own dinner.

“Thank you,” he says again and walks to the chair. So he's finally remembering his good manners; progress.

I eat at the table, reading a little more in my book as I do so. Scarecrow has sat down again and is balancing his plate on his lap while he eats. He's trying hard not to appear too greedy, but I can tell he really just wants to wolf it down. He must be ravenous.

When I return to collect his plate, he has withdrawn to the edge of the cage again, but he looks at me with a question in his eyes, seeking my permission to speak.

“Yes, Scarecrow?”

“I need to take a leak,” he declares.

“Of course. I'm surprised you've held out this long in the first place.” I take his plate to the kitchen and return with a small bucket that I leave in his cage.

The look on his face says he's fuming that I expect him to use a bucket for a toilet, but it's either that or hold it in. He manages to wait until I busy myself with the dishes. He probably hopes the noise I'm making will cover the sounds he's making, but he's hoping in vain. I grant him the privacy, though, and refrain from turning to watch, tempting as it is to finally check him out. But no, it's too soon. Patience is a virtue.

Once I'm done with the dishes, I make myself comfortable in the armchair. Scarecrow still prowls about his cage. I can't blame him. He's been strapped to that chair for over a day, it's only natural that he wants to move. He'll feel hot soon, getting his blood flowing like that. After all he's still wearing his jacket. But he'll need it at night, the cabin has no heating, and as lovely as the days are, it cools of significantly after sunset.

He finally comes to rest at the bars closest to me, holding onto them. “Can we talk?”

I lift my finger to my lips and he understands that it's a no. With a sigh, he turns away and takes up his prowling again. Annoyed he bats away the chain when he turns too quickly for it to swing out of the way. I chuckle. He's like a caged tiger. Only sexier. But like a tiger he'll be sleeping on the floor. Well, I expect he will, I doubt he'll want to spend another night on the chair. And towards the rear of the cage, he's got enough slack in the chain to be able to lie down.

I observe him for a while longer, until I decide it's time to get some rest. Hopefully tomorrow will see more action. But that will depend on him.

To prevent the place smelling of piss, I empty out his bucket before I turn in. Then, having locked his cage again, turn off all lights but the one above the cage, strip down to my underwear, and get into bed, aware that he's watching me.


	3. Day 3

Today it's not the sun that's gently waking me, but a curse coming from Scarecrow. I open my eyes to see what's going on. He's once again fighting with the chain on his collar. He somehow managed to turn the collar around so the chain is pressing against his cheek.

I push myself up on an elbow and watch. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

“Good morning, Scarecrow,” I say once he's managed to re-adjust the collar.

He looks up at me and I can tell he's tempted to give a snarky reply, but checks himself. “Morning, Tsar,” he says instead. 

I sigh dramatically. “Scarecrow, Scarecrow – please, mind your manners. What's so difficult about being polite and wishing me a _good_ morning in return?” I get up and reach for my clothes, making sure to give him a good view of my rear as I put on my pants. When I look back at him, he seems unimpressed.

“I'll go get some fresh water. Be a good boy while I'm gone.”

There's an old well at the back of the cabin so I don't need to walk far. It's amazing that the place has electricity, but no running water. Okay, the electricity comes from a generator running in an outside shed. I made sure it had enough gas for a couple of days before I brought Scarecrow here. It's not as if I need much power, it's mostly the lights. And I've got more gas in the trunk, depending on how long this is going to take.

Scarecrow is sitting on the chair when I return, elbows resting on his thighs and his chin resting on his hands. His posture clearly states he's bored out of his mind. I can help that. After breakfast. I'm hungry, so I busy myself in the kitchen. Eggs for breakfast today.

When I next check on him, Scarecrow has gotten up and is watching me from the edge of his cage. Yes, you're getting some, too, Scarecrow, as long as you're not begging for it. Which, in some way, he is. His expression reminds me of a dog hoping for leftovers from the table. But he's not begging with words, which is what counts. If I didn't want him to look, I'd have blindfolded him.

I slide the eggs onto plates, about two thirds for me, one for him. “Step back from the door,” I order as I approach with key and plate. He immediately obeys and stands off to the side. I leave the plate on his chair. He'll have to make do with a spoon again, I'm not trusting him with other cutlery just yet. I also grab a fresh bottle of water and place it outside the bars. He should be able to squeeze it through.

Time to enjoy my own breakfast.

Once I'm done, I collect his plate, which he's left near the door. He's also managed to get hold of the water and is all but cradling it in his arms. Half of the water is gone already. Well, you know where the bucket is, Scarecrow.

I put the dishes and the pan into the sink and turn, leaning against the kitchen counter, contemplating my next step. Is he ready? He's trying to play along, but I sense there's still some fight in him. But, in all honesty, I'm glad there is. It'd be boring if there wasn't. Pushing myself away from the counter, I head for the cage.

Scarecrow looks up as I enter and his grip on the bottle tightens. No, I don't want to take it from him. Instead I stroll to the back of his chair, placing my hands on his shoulders, pulling him back.

“Well, Scarecrow? You wanted to talk.”

I can feel his shoulders straightening a little under my hands. “Yes.”

“Then talk.”

It's probably not what he expected, but I don't intend to question him. Not just yet.

“Why don't you tell me why you brought me here, Tsar?”

Ah, rephrasing the same old question of 'what do you want from me'. “Because we're alone out here.”

“You've gone to quite some trouble just for that.”

“I'm glad you're appreciating my efforts.”

He hesitates. “When will you let me go?”

“That depends on you.”

“Then what do I need to do to get out of here? If you wanted to kill me you could long since have done that.”

“Then I think we agree that your death is not on my agenda. Which isn't meant to say I'd hesitate to shoot you, should the necessity arrive.”

“Then what is on your agenda, if it's not my death?”

“Still the same thing as before.”

“What? Obedience?”

“Is your memory that bad, Scarecrow, that you forgot our last encounter? Then maybe I was wrong and you're of no use to me after all. In which case I might just as well kill you.”

“Oh come on, you still want to turn me?! I thought I'd been clear on that. No. Never.”

“Never say never. You don't know what's on offer.”

“There's nothing 'Mother Russia' could offer me that would make me betray my country.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I doubt that. Everyone's got their price. You just have to figure out what it is. For some people it's money, but that obviously doesn't interest you. Why would it? You've got a nice home, a fancy car, enough money to impress women... what would you do with more money?”

“Oh, I could think of a thing or two,” Scarecrow mutters.

“I think,” I lean down to speak in his ear, my voice hushed, “your price is something very different.” With that I draw back and leave the cage, head outside even. Time to let him think about it.

I rub my face and feel the stubble there. I ought to shave, but that will have to wait. I'm not heading back inside just yet. Instead I walk around the cabin a couple of times. I've spent a lot of time sitting around these last days and it feels good to be walking in the sunshine. No doubt it's going to be a hot day, and Scarecrow is still wearing his jacket with no chance to get out of it with his hands cuffed. I might have to do something about that.

Thinking about his shirt, wet with sweat, clinging to his body, turns me on. I let my imagination run wild with the image for a while, but do nothing more about it. I'd rather wait for the right moment to arrive in reality, than get too lost in a fantasy.

I'm not sure how long it's been until I return back inside the cabin. The sun is heating it up nicely. I eye Scarecrow's water supply. So far he's held back, probably not trusting me to supply him with more any time soon.

I stand outside his cage and look at him. He's still – or again – sitting on the chair and looks up at me.

“It's going to be a hot day.”

He nods. “Guess so. Look, Tsar –“

“Shh,” I interrupt him, but he shakes his head.

“No, I need to say this. You won't turn me. I don't know what you'll do with me instead, but I'm not going to betray my country. You can't keep me here forever.”

“I don't intend to.”

“Then you might just as well let me go now, because if turning me is what you brought me here for, your mission has failed.”

“You haven't even heard what's on the table.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“I think it will.” I smile. It's true. One way or another, it will.

“Okay, if you're so sure, why don't you put your cards on the table?”

“I will when the time is right. Patience, Scarecrow. Patience.”

He glances up at the chain. “Not like I have much of a choice.”

I don't bother with a reply and go to get shaved instead.

By noon the air has become stifling hot inside the cabin. I opened the windows, but there's no wind to speak of, so it's not really helping.

While I'm only lightly dressed, I can see Scarecrow sweating in his heavy leather jacket. He has managed to push it off his shoulders, but I don't think it's helping much. Especially as it makes it even harder for him to use his hands to sip from the bottle. It's nearly empty, I observe.

I take pity on him and walk over to where he's sitting on the floor, leaning his head against the metal bars. They're probably cooler than he is.

“Get up.”

He looks up at me as if to say 'what for', but after a second pushes himself off the floor.

I unlock one of the cuffs and help him out of the sleeve of his jacket before putting the cuff back on, then repeat the procedure with the other arm. He seems relived to be rid of the heavy garment. I wonder if he'll change his mind about it once the sun sets, but I take it along as I leave the cage, not bothering to close the door. I can feel his eyes following me, but as he says nothing, neither do I.

When I sit back down in my chair, I glance at him, just to compare reality to the image my imagination created earlier on. I wasn't that far off. And while I've already seen what's underneath the shirt, I'd love to rip it off his body right now and explore his sweaty body. Of course I don't.

Scarecrow runs a finger around the inside of the collar. Yes, I guess it's hot underneath that, too, but the collar is staying in place.

After a while, a sound distracts me from my book. When I look up, I find Scarecrow toying with the empty bottle. Seems he's found something to occupy himself with; throwing it up and catching it again.

I consider taking the bottle away, but decide against it. He'll probably be bored with it soon enough.

Indeed he is, rolling it around the floor listlessly. 

“What is it you're trying to do here, Tsar? Bore me to death?”

I look up sharply at his words. “Did I allow you to speak?”

“You're barely allowing me to exist, giving me a little food and water, but nothing else. If you want something from me, don't you think you should be a little nicer?”

“Being nice didn't work, if you think back to our last encounter, Scarecrow. But as my superiors are quite adamant that I need to get you onto our side – or get rid of you, which would be a waste, not to say a shame – I'm working with a different approach.”

I chide myself. I shouldn't have reacted that way. I need him to play my game, not let him change the rules.

“You are of course aware that you just forfeited your next water ration by speaking out of turn.”

He throws his empty bottle in my direction, but it harmlessly bangs against the cage as I'm not sitting in line of the door.

“And your dinner.”

“Fuck you, Tsar.”

Oh, if only you meant that, Scarecrow. But it looks like I have to reinstate my authority. I put my book aside and reach for my bag, getting out a shorter chain than the one holding him captive inside the cage. A lot shorter.

He takes a step back as I approach, dangling the chain from my hand. Maybe he's scared that I might hit him with it. No, Scarecrow, I don't intend to mar your lovely body. I loop the chain through the ring in the cage's ceiling and reach for the key to unlock the long chain that's holding him captive.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rushing at me but it's too late. I only manage to half step out of the way. We both crash to the floor, the new chain clattering to the ground between us.

While I managed to break my fall with my hands, he ended up on the ground and apparently knocked himself out upon impact.

I was sure he'd try something, but that was a stupid move. I turn him over – at least there's no wound. He's probably going to sport a bump on his head soon, though. As long as he's out cold, I swap out the chain at the ring, locking the short one into place.

As he's not moving once I'm done, I go and wet a towel and slap his face with it a couple of times until he comes round.

“Get up.” My tone is harsh.

He groans but pushes himself up with the help of the chair. He's a little wobbly on his feet but manages to straighten.

“No more of that or you're in real trouble,” I hiss at him while I quickly unlock the padlock on his collar, switch out the chain ends and lock it again. He's forced to stand upright now, the chain is too short to even allow him to sit down.

I leave the cage and lock it behind me.

He soon realizes his lack of freedom. Being forced upright by your neck is a very unpleasant state, but he brought it on himself. Of course I won't leave him like that for the night, but I'm not telling him that. I'm not telling him anything. Silence is all he can expect for the rest of the day.

I head outside for a while to work off my anger. It's not a good state of mind to be in. Some push-ups and sprints around the cabin help me to let off steam.

By the time I return inside, the sun is beginning to set. She'll soon be out of sight beyond the trees.

I glance at Scarecrow; He's holding onto the chain with both hands. If that makes it easier for him, so be it. I'm not going to relieve him of his predicament just yet. Instead, I prepare a light dinner for myself. Though I exhausted myself outside, I'm not very hungry. It's still too hot. I leave the lights out as long as possible so as not to attract all sorts of insects with both door and windows still open. It's actually quite nice to sit in the semi-darkness and watch the world become smaller as more and more of it is swallowed by the fast approaching night.

Thankfully the wind has picked up a little, and soon the heat inside is gone. Time to close the place up for the night. Before I shut the door, I turn on the light above the cage, but leave the rest of the cabin in darkness. He doesn't need to see me, as long as I can keep an eye on him.

He hasn't said a word since his stunt earlier on, not even to complain or ask for water or food. I had expected something, but he's either too proud or he's got a bad conscience. Probably too proud. And stubborn.

I sit in the dark cabin for a while longer and observe him while I think. He's made his move and failed. Will he try again? I'm not sure. But I'll have to be careful.

Finally fatigue overcomes me, so it's time I make sure Scarecrow doesn't accidentally strangle himself with the collar over night. I reach for the long chain and approach the cage. He looks at me as I step into the range of the light. I guess that bump on his temple hurts quite a bit, but I feel no compassion.

I loop the chain farther through the ring than before, testing the length. It will allow him to sit on the chair, maybe the ground, but it's not long enough to let him lie down. Good.

“Hold still,” I tell him and he nods, having observed my actions and probably approving of my intentions to ease his situation.

He keeps still indeed, waiting for me to swap out the short chain with both ends of the long one. Without another word I leave with the short chain in hand, and lock the cage behind me. Scarecrow carefully lowers himself onto the chair, testing the reach of the chain. There's some slack in it yet and he breathes an audible sigh of relief.


	4. Day 4

I wake up to the sound of a fly buzzing above my head. It must have come in some time yesterday. Swatting at it, I sit up and look over to Scarecrow. He's still in the chair, his head tipped back, asleep. It can't be comfortable, but he doesn't deserve any comfort after his failed attack yesterday. I get up, reach for my clothes and head outside to relieve myself.

When I return, he's awake and looks at me. He looks tired and scraggy. His captivity is starting to take its toll on him; a couple of days worth of stubble on his face, his hair matted against his head and dark rings are starting to show under his eyes. And then there's the bump on his temple.

He looks anything but sexy like this. I need to do something about that. First things first, I pour him a glass of water and take it into the cage. I hold it out to him, but pull it away again when he reaches for it.

“You know you don't deserve it.”

He looks at me blankly and lets his hands drop to his lap again. Exhaustion has definitely set in, the fight has gone out of him; at least for now. 

I hold the glass out to him again. “Take it.”

He looks at me, then at the glass, and reaches out again. This time I let him have it. To my surprise he has enough restraint left in him to only sip at it.

I'll also need to get some food into him. But that doesn't mean he deserves anything special. I decide on a slice of bread with some cheese. No plate, no cutlery. Just the food. He accepts it and greedily bites into it. No restraint this time.

I prepare myself a decent breakfast, then do the dishes I postponed yesterday evening due to the lack of light. When I glance at Scarecrow, he just stares straight ahead, no longer watching me.

Once the dishes are clean, I get out my shaving gear, treating myself to the pleasure of being clean shaved before I head to the cage. Just inside the door I stop.

“You look like shit, as you Americans like to say.”

He looks up at me, then at the towel, soap and knife I carry.

“This,” I hold up my knife, “is sharp. So you'd better hold still while I work.”

He nods and I approach the chair. I'm not used to shaving other people, so I work slowly. He keeps perfectly still until I'm done, at which point he feels his face with his hands, studying them when he lowers them again. No blood, I'm proud to say.

I put away the items and return. “Well, that has helped at least a little.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair as much as the cuffs allow, and that helps a little, too. I study him until he starts to squirm.

“You've had plenty of time to think about what I said.”

He looks up at me.

“Have you thought about your price?”

“I don't have one,” he states, his voice sounding steadier than his scraggy looks suggested it would. “Do you?”

I smirk at him. “Do you intend to make a counter offer?”

He shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“Yes, I do have a price, but I don't think you could pay it.”

“As I said – just wondering.”

“And you're not wondering what your own price might be?”

“No.”

“Aren't you even _interested_ what I could offer?”

“No. All I'm interested in is getting out of here.”

“And what would you do for that?”

“Kill you if I must.”

“Tsk. But yes, I'm sure you would. Nothing else? Why should I let you go if you don't offer me anything?”

“Because I'm of no use to you if you can't turn me.”

“Oh, but you are of use to me, Scarecrow.”

“Oh yeah? What use?”

I let my eyes roam over him openly which makes him narrow his eyes.

“I could exchange you for one of our own.”

Not what he expected me to say, I know. I like keeping him on edge.

“At least I'd get out of here.”

“A boring solution, though, isn't it?”

“A little boredom makes for a nice change to our lifestyle.”

I chuckle and walk around him. “How about a different change?” I put my hands on his shoulders from behind, then slide them down just a little further, stopping before my fingertips get too close to his nipples. I can feel the shudder that runs through him, though. Excitement or horror, I wonder. At least he doesn't attempt to pull away.

“What kind of change?” he asks.

“A non-boring change.” I run my thumbs up and down the sides of his neck, then grab his throat with my right hand and pull his head back with my left so he stares up at me. He instinctively reaches for my right hand, but the moment he touches me, I increase the pressure on his throat. He understands immediately and pulls back. I loosen my grip on his throat.

He's still looking up at me, though he doesn't have much of a choice in the matter. He could close his eyes, of course, but he doesn't. He just waits for whatever I'm about to do next.

I release his throat and he takes a deep breath.

“I could bring a very interesting change to your life, Scarecrow,” I whisper in his ear.

“I see,” he says in a neutral voice. “They're not expecting you back in Moscow then?”

I chuckle. “You have no idea how often I visit your country. Just like you didn't know I was here this time. I get around a lot more than you might think.”

“Do your superiors know just what you're offering?”

“They don't need to know. The result is all that matters to them. The means of achieving it are up to me.”

“I doubt they meant something like that.”

“I'd show you my written orders, only as far as I know you don't read Cyrillic, so you'll just have to take my word for it that I'm to do whatever it takes.”

“What if I still say no?”

“What if you'd say yes?”

“I'd be a traitor.”

“We've had that discussion before.”

“The facts haven't changed.”

“But the offer has changed.”

“And you think that's my price?”

“Maybe you don't know it yet, but yes, I think it is.” With those words I retreat. “I'll get some more water. You need to wash.”

He really needs to, that smell isn't sexy. 

When I re-enter the cabin with a freshly filled bucket, I take a moment to look at him. He _does_ look better now, clean shaved. The dark rings are still there, but I don't worry about those. They'll fade once he gets a few nights worth of proper sleep. For now water and soap will go a long way to improving his appearance.

I fetch soap and a towel and take the items into the cage. But he'll have a hard time washing without being able to bend down to the bucket. I'll have to do something about it, so I go and grab both my keys and the second padlock.

“I'm going lengthen the chain again, don't get any stupid ideas,” I instruct him. He nods and folds his hands in his lap.

I open the lock on his collar just long enough to slip one end of the chain out. Scarecrow remains still, though if he wanted to try something, this would be the ideal moment. The cage is unlocked and the chain isn't attached for a moment. But within seconds the moment has passed and the chain is firmly locked onto the ring again. Has he really given up his fight? We'll see.

“Hold out your hands.” He frowns at the command, but obeys. I unlock the cuffs. He immediately rubs his wrists. “Take off your shirt,” I order next.

He hesitates, but, eyeing bucket and towel, stands and pulls it out of his jeans before unbuttoning it. It's hanging loosely off his shoulders for a moment before he removes it, placing it on the chair behind him.

I pick it up and leave the cage with it, this time locking up behind me. Better safe than sorry, he's got his hands free after all – for the first time since we got into the car outside his place.

Dropping his shirt onto a chair by the table, I walk to my armchair and settle down to watch him wash. The water is very cold, but he doesn't seem to mind. Watching him like this makes me wish I had sneaked into his bathroom and watched him shower when I had the chance. Unfortunately I was preoccupied with covering my tracks at the time.

He can't properly wash his hair, but he wets it and combs it with his fingers. When he's done he stands there, apparently uncertain what to do with himself.

“Feeling better, Scarecrow?”

“I sure feel more like a human being again.”

“Good. You actually look it again, too.”

“Can I have my shirt back?”

“It needs washing.” In other words – no.

He moves his arms around, enjoying the freedom. That is, he enjoys it until he notices the interest on my face as I watch him. That's when he self-consciously wraps his arms around himself and turns away.

I get up and unlock the cage to remove bucket and towel. He watches me wearily over his shoulder, but doesn't try anything. I lock the cage and take the bucket outside to empty it. Upon my return, he stands at the cage door and looks at me expectantly. “Now what?”

Oh, I could think of a thing or two, but I feel the moment hasn't arrived yet for that. “I think I'm going to read some more.”

Scarecrow throws up his hands in exasperation but doesn't voice his objection. Instead he retreats to the chair.

“Do you know how many bars this cage consists of?” he asks after a while.

“I built it.”

“I've also counted the logs in the wall and the number of trees visible through every window.”

OK, I get it. He's bored. But getting way too pushy again. Is this the thanks I get for looking after him?

“Good for you. Now shut up and let me read.”

“Geez, you want something from me, Tsar, yet all you do is read and occasionally drop hints.”

And I know how well dropping hints can work, letting the imagination fill in the details. I wonder what he's thinking of when he considers my offer.

“Scarecrow,” I say, a warning audible in my voice, but make no actual threat. His mind will come up with some atrocity I might bestow upon him.

He sighs but indeed shuts up. After a moment I focus back on my book. If there's one thing I don't like, it's pushy bottoms. And hell will freeze over before he gets to top me.

Clouds appear as the day progresses, so it's not as hot as it was yesterday, but so far I'm not worried about Scarecrow getting too cold without his shirt. Come night, I'll probably have to rethink the situation.

I finish my book by mid-afternoon. Feeling stiff, I stand and stretch a little. Scarecrow looks over.

“About your offer...” he starts.

“What about it?” I only throw him a casual glance.

“What guarantee do you have that I won't kill you first chance once you release me?”

“There are no guarantees in our line of work, Scarecrow. But you're a loyal man. I trust once you decide to work for us, you'll be just as loyal to us as you've been to your side until now.”

“Trust. You'd _trust_ me?”

“Of course.” Not. I do of course have a backup plan to ensure he'll stick to our deal.

“Why?”

“Why does anyone trust anyone else? Sometimes you just have to trust people.”

“Yeah, but usually not your enemy.”

“True. But we'd no longer be enemies.”

He looks at me for a long moment. “Hard to think of you as anything but.”

Oh, I could make you think of me as a rather welcome _enemy_ , Scarecrow. I think you'd call it a dom. “I'm sure you'd quickly get used to the thought.” At least he's thinking about it. That's progress.

“Hmm.” He turns away and takes up pacing once again.

I leave him to it, reach for his shirt and take it outside where I rinse it with water a couple of times to get the worst of the smell out of it. I'm not usually one for housekeeping, but I'm making an exception this time. We didn't bring a change of clothes for him after all. Not that I'm all that keen to cover his body up again, but ultimately I'll have to take him back to civilization and I'd better not do that without a shirt. That would be certain to draw attention.

I spread the shirt out on the bench to dry and return back inside.

“Tsar,” Scarecrow calls for me.

“Yes, Scarecrow?” I could never understand why someone would give him that handle. Such an attractive man and such an unappealing handle.

“I'll need facts, not just hints, if I'm supposed to make a decision like that.”

“Meaning?”

“What exactly is it you're offering?”

“Do you want a sample?”

For a moment he looks as if I'd slapped him again, but then he recovers. “Why don't you just explain it to me?”

“I don't think I could do my offer justice with words. Certainly not in your language.”

“Try.”

“No, words are not what I'm offering, Scarecrow.”

He turns away, so I reach for my bag and pull out two books. One I leave on the table, one I take along to my armchair. “Let me know if you want a sample.”

“I'd like some more water.”

I open my book. “You know how to earn it.”

He does, sits down on his chair, arms crossed, and stares off into the distance. Or maybe he's counting trees again. Whatever it is, it keeps him quiet.

Once it's time for dinner, I open a can of soup. My activity brings him to the bars of the cage again. Yes, I bet he's hungry, and the soup is enough for both of us. He has behaved fairly well today, aside from the brief interlude this afternoon, so I'll grant him his share..

He stays where he is as I approach the cage with a plate of soup, so I deposit it on the chair and leave again. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” he says and eagerly picks up plate and spoon.

I fetch my own plate and we eat in silence. It's nearly companionable, if you ignore the little fact that he's my prisoner.

After I've eaten, I briefly go outside and bring his shirt with me as I get back in. Scarecrow looks at the shirt, then at me, probably expecting me to return it. I don't. Instead I drape it over the back of a chair; it's still a little damp anyway.

I left the door open so a cool breeze is blowing in. I wonder how long it will take for Scarecrow to complain about getting cold? He's going to look so good in the snug fitting shirt I have in my bag. Of course I checked his clothes size when I planted the bugs in his apartment, so I know it'll fit – just about.

I'm of two minds about the fact that he doesn't say anything for another hour while I clean up the tiny kitchenette and enjoy watching the sun set. I like looking at his bare chest, but I'm also keen to see him in the shirt I brought. But it'll come to that sooner rather than later, if his posture – arms wrapped tightly around himself – is any indicator.

“Can you at least close the door, if you're not going to return my shirt?” he finally blurts out.

I ignore him for a full minute, then slowly push myself up and close the door. “Is it just me or is it getting a little chilly in here?”

He doesn't reply. “Who do you think I'm addressing?” I snap.

“Rhetorical question?”

I glare at him stonily for a moment. “I'm waiting.”

He sighs. “Yes, it is getting a little chilly in here.”

“Once more, this time without the dramatics.” Humor me, Scarecrow.

“Yes, it's indeed getting a little chilly.” He starts rubbing his sides as if on cue. Subconsciously?

“Well, I think I'll turn in, I've got such a comfortable and warm bed waiting for me.”

“Good for you,” he mutters under his breath. I pretend not to hear, though.

It's dark in here now, so I turn on the lights. Just look at his nipples, they've gone hard. He _is_ cold. I move around the place for a few minutes, putting this away, clearing that thing away. He's still not asking for anything to provide warmth. He's managed to bring his feet up onto the chair though, hugging his knees.

Standing outside the cage, I watch him for a moment. He doesn't look up at me.

“Scarecrow.”

He turns his head to look at me, but when I don't say anything else, he puts his chin on his knees.

I wonder if it's defiance or if he thinks asking for something to keep him warm is only going to worsen the situation. Whichever it is, I don't want a sick Scarecrow on my hands, so I fetch the shirt from my bag.

He's not paying attention, but I'm still surprised he doesn't catch the shirt when I throw it at him. I had expected better reflexes.

Scarecrow looks down at the black, shiny latex shirt on the floor, then at me.

“It's either that or be cold. Your choice.” With that, I lock the cage and get ready to slip into bed.

A quiet curse sounds from the cage and I glance over my shoulder and find him struggling to squeeze into the tight shirt. The show deserves my full attention, so I sit on my bed and watch. Hmm, he looks even better in it than I had imagined he would.


	5. Day 5

In the early morning light, I find Scarecrow rolled up in the far corner of his cage in fetus position. As cozy as it looks at first glance, he's sleeping on the hard floor.

I stretch languidly before I head outside for my morning ritual. For once Scarecrow is still asleep upon my return. That can be helped. I reach for my keys on the table.

“Rise and shine!” I draw the key along the bars, making enough noise to startle him. 

He glances up with bleary eyes, not a very appealing sight despite the shirt, so I turn away to prepare some breakfast. “Sleep well?”

“Not really.”

I appreciate the honest answer.

“You know this doesn't need to continue, Scarecrow. You're not still hoping someone will find and free you out here, or are you?” A glance over my shoulder while I bustle about the kitchenette tells me he's on his feet and trying to shake the stiffness from his body.

“My colleagues are damn good at their jobs.”

“Considering your current situation, I think I can rightfully say: So am I.”

“Unfortunately.”

That makes me chuckle. “Have you considered my offer?”

“What little detail you were willing to give me.”

“I told you, you can ask for a sample.”

“I'm not sure if that'd be for my benefit or yours.”

“Now, now, Scarecrow, such mistrust. Let's call it mutually beneficial.”

While the pan is heating up for my eggs, I pour a bowl of some random cereal I picked at the supermarket for him and add milk. Something tells me he's going to need a little energy today.

Once my eggs are in the pan, I take him his breakfast. “For once you deserve it, you've been very well behaved.”

“Thanks,” he replies, but I'm not sure if he's referring to food or praise.

“Enjoy.”

We spend another meal in silence, well, as silent as his crunchy cereals allow for. Maybe I should have added a little more milk, but I don't want to spoil him.

I clear away the dishes once we're both done and also empty his bucket.

“Tsar?” His voice is hesitant.

“Scarecrow?”

He nods at my apparent OK to speak, but takes a deep breath before he says another word.

“If I agreed to a sample, would it be just that?”

“Are you asking if you're committing yourself by asking for a sample? I think you're still not quite clear about your situation, Scarecrow. Either we reach a deal, or I'm going to kill you and it'll be a long time until someone will find your unmarked grave out here.”

“That's not much of a choice.”

“Oh, but it is. It's basically a choice of life and death. An interesting life and death.”

“How long? How long are you willing to wait for an answer?”

“I'm a patient man, Scarecrow, but even my patience is limited.”

“Meaning?”

“Not much longer.”

“You're not good with providing exact data, Tsar.”

“Need to know, you should be familiar with the concept.”

“But I _do_ need to know.”

“No, you just need to reach a decision. Soon.”

He turns away, but for once doesn't pace up and down the cage. He does run his hand through his hair, though. What a lovely motion, it allows me to observe the muscles in his upper torso underneath the tight shirt.

I'm unwilling to put a fixed date on when he's got to decide. The thing is, I really don't want to kill him. The alternative option appeals a lot more to me. But eventually this will have to end one way or another. My superiors are awaiting my report – and preferably one that includes some information he's given me.

I turn away to get my book when he speaks up again. “Maybe I'll prefer death once I've had that sample.”

Cheeky. And a little insulting. I turn to face him again. “Maybe. I could make you feel that way, if that's what you want.”

“And if it's not?” He turns and studies my face.

“Then there are other options.”

“What options?”

“Ah, I told you words aren't on offer. Ask for a sample and you'll find out.”

He hesitates, looks away, runs his hand through his hair once more. Nervous? That could be a good sign. Working himself up to a decision.

“Let me know if you reach a decision.” I finally pick up my book and head to my arm-chair.

“Okay,” he says out of the blue 18 pages later.

“Hm?”

“I'll accept a sample.”

“I'm not offering one.” I'm not looking up yet.

“What?!”

“I said you can _ask_ for one. The only thing I'm _offering_ is the deal.”

He lets out a long breath. “Can I have a sample, Tsar?” It sounds as if he's speaking through clenched teeth.

“What was that?”

“I want a sample.”

Reaching for my bookmark, I finally look at him. “But just the one, Scarecrow. Don't think you can stall for time that way.”

He shakes his head. “Just the one, so I know what exactly the offer entails.”

I drop my book on the arm-chair, stand and casually stroll to the cage.

“I'm glad we're on the same page in that respect.” I let my eyes roam over him and I can tell he's trying to suppress a shudder. “Don't worry, I won't kill you unless you decide that's what you prefer.” With what I consider my most innocent expression I add, “Or you fail to reach a decision.”

So finally I'm gonna get my hands on him. And a another part of myself into him. Elation is flooding through me, but I'm not one to let my emotions rule my actions, so I remain in full control as I reach for my bag, secretly move the book on the table a little and press a spot on the spine, then take the bag inside the cage.

I keep my distance for now, you never know. Not with a man like Scarecrow. The cuffs come out first. “Stand underneath the ring,” I order him.

He looks up at the top bars of the cage and moves to where it's attached. I reach for a carabiner as well and push the chair close to him.

“Don't do anything silly. I don't have the keys for your chain on me.” In other words: Kill me and you're still stuck here. “Hands.”

He holds them out and I place the padded cuffs around his wrists, attach the carabiner in the middle of the connecting chain, and climb onto the chair so I can also hook it into the ring, forcing him to stand on his toes. A little wobbly, but he'll be alright.

“I'd gag you, but out here you can make as much noise as you like. All you're likely to _spook_ are a few birds.” Pun intended. But I also want to know what sounds he makes when he comes.

I open his jeans and push them down to his ankles, which doesn't help his balance at all. His arms and shoulders will be quite sore once I'm done with him, but so will his ass. His very well-shaped ass, I should add. I give it a slap. If he had more room to move, he'd jump, as it is he only futilely tries to sway out of my reach. I reach for his hips and hold him in place for a moment, then head back to my bag.

Now that he's no threat, I take my time sorting through the contents. I bring a few items over to the chair. He tries to see what they are, but I block his view. But he's just given one of the items priority: A blindfold.

I step around him with it, then actually struggle a little, getting it in place around his head with his arms pulled up so close to it. But then it's on and immediately he's turning his head, trying to _hear_ what I'm doing. For a moment I just stand there, enjoying the sight in front of me. His well-shaped ass, the muscles in his shoulders showing through the latex shirt... I picture him squirming. But why picture it?

I reach for the next item: a cock cage. He is going to be allowed his release, but _I_ am going to decide on when. Again, he tries to shift away as I reach for his cock, but a slap to his side quickly stills him. And yet, when he realizes what I'm doing, a seething “bastard” escapes his lips. It earns him another slap to his side, a little harder this time, but I'm glad for the blindfold so I don't need to hide my smirk. “Watch your mouth or I'll change my mind about the gag.”

The option doesn't seem to appeal to him as he clenches his mouth firmly shut.

I'm still not sure if the intel that he swings both ways is correct, so I'll have to take my time preparing him for me. I know some people like to do that with their fingers, I prefer my toys for the task. But before I start, I press myself up against him and let him feel my growing erection through the cloth of my pants. He gasps when I rub myself against him a little, but I firmly hold him in position. If my grip should leave bruises, it'll be his problem to explain them should someone get to see them.

I trace a small scar on his side with a finger, wondering how he got it. No, I won't get distracted now. Focus. Time to prepare him for me.

I reach for the anal angler I brought for the purpose. The straight end with the ball on top is what I start with. A little lube from the tube I also deposited on the chair, and I'm ready. He's once again trying to figure out what I'm doing from the sounds he can pick up, but aside from the sound of the cap of the lube, there just isn't much for him to hear.

He tenses up when I spread his butt cheeks with one hand, but holds still. The cold lube against his hole makes him draw in a sharp breath, though. I rub the ball against his hole, spreading some of the lube around the entrance, then push. Another sharp intake of breath, but no cry or protest as the ball forces his muscles out of its way. I give him a short moment to get familiar with the feeling of the ball up his ass, but soon push in a little deeper before pulling back until the ball is once more stretching his ring of muscles. Well, it's only a small ball after all. We're only just getting started. I alternate moving the angler deeper in and pulling it back to his opening for a while, then start playing around with the angle.

A surprised yelp tells me I found his prostrate. Now, it'd be cruel to stimulate it too much with his cock locked up, unable to swell. But so far we're still enemies, so just a little cruelty seems in place. I rub over his prostate with the ball end a few times, making him groan. Satisfied with the reaction, I pull the angler out again and clean it with one of the last items I brought – a tissue. Then a little more lube spread over the other end of it, one that's a succession of balls, each one bigger than the one before. Perfect for my purpose.

The first ball, no bigger than the one on the other end, slides into his opening easily, but when he senses the next bigger ball pressing against him, he tenses up again. I'm not one to offer soothing words of comfort in such situations, so I simply press a little harder until the second ball is stretching his anus. He takes it in his stride, even manages to relax a little, so I have no mercy and directly press on, forcing the third ball inside.

It's a pleasure to watch how greedily his muscles seem to drag every ball in, doing their best to close again after it passed. Their best isn't good enough, though, there are three more balls to go. But first I play a little with these three, pulling two out and pushing them back in a couple of times to loosen the muscles up. Once he's getting used to it, I push the next two balls in. If you just look at the diameter of the balls, the increase isn't all that much, but I know he senses each and every extra millimeter. More balls to play with, pulling them out, pushing them back in, watching his hole stretch and close as they pass through.

Finally I push the last one in as well and his hole closes around the base of the angler, so much narrower than all balls. But I don't give his anus much chance to rest, instead start fucking him with the angler until something between a groan and a whimper escapes his lips.

“Something the matter, Scarecrow?” Somehow I manage to keep my voice casual despite my own arousal. When he doesn't reply, I slap his side again.

“No,” he presses out through clenched teeth.

“Good.” I alter the angle of the toy a little and aim for his prostate again, pushing the angler in deep so more than one ball rubs against it.

His breath is going quicker now. I leave the angler deep inside him and draw back, taking a moment to calm myself. He's given up trying to listen to the sounds I make.

I reach for the last item on the chair – a condom. I open the fly of my trousers and free my cock from the confines of clothing. I don't need to touch myself to make it stand straight out. I've been waiting for and planning this for so long, now that the moment is here, all that pent up desire combined with Scarecrow right in front of me is enough. I roll on the condom and step up to him again. The angler comes out in one fluid motion and I drop it on the tissue.

While I very much enjoyed making him guess what I'd do, I no longer want to wait. I'll happily show him what I want to do. Aligning myself behind him, I press the tip of my cock against his hole. Either he hasn't realized yet that it's not a toy this time, or he doesn't care. Should he have been mistaken, I'm quickly clearing up the matter by pressing into him. He's still tight, but that's the way I like it. I loosened his anus just enough not to be hurt by being fucked, but not enough to take me in easily. It's perfect and he first gasps, then hisses as I press deeper into him.

Once I'm buried to the hilt, I pause, enjoying the tightness around my shaft. Oh, he feels so good.

“Tsar,” it's half spoken, half groaned.

“What?” I whisper into his ear.

He hesitates, or maybe he's just trying to deal with the pain he must be in, both in his shoulders and his ass. “Please,” he says.

Once more I take a tight grip on his hips to hold him in place. “Don't beg, Scarecrow, just take it like the man I take you to be.”

That makes him try to calm his breathing. No, we can't have that. I start to pull out a little and push back in. Slowly, not all that far, but the friction on top of the stretching makes it a futile attempt for him to regain some control. No, Scarecrow, I'm the one in control. I decide just how relaxed, how aroused, or in how much pain you are.

I for one am very aroused and it's only years of practiced self-discipline in all sorts of situations that allow me to pace myself. Still I pull out a little further each time until only the head of my member remains inside him.

Hitting his prostate is a little more difficult, the angle not ideal for it due to my height in relation to his. But after a few attempts another hiss tells me I finally found the spot again.

He's still locked up and will stay so for a while yet. 

I start fucking him in earnest, my pants slapping against his butt cheeks upon every stroke. My own breath goes quicker now. Scarecrow seems to be following my instructions, he's not begging for his own release. His breath is ragged and I'm sure I can hear occasional groans, but nothing more.

With one more push deep into his ass, I come, now more steadying myself on his hips than holding him still. But hold still he does, as if he realizes it's his turn to keep us steady for a bit. Once again he seems to try to calm his breath and right now I'm in no shape to do anything about it.

I regain my breath and when I feel my cock slacken, I pull out of him. Scarecrow still hasn't had a chance to so much as get an erection, but still he's not begging.

Still feeling a little high due to my orgasm, I discard the condom, then slap his ass and finger his hole. It's not yet fully closed again, but my fingers come away without any blood on them. You've done well, Scarecrow. Maybe this wasn't your first time after all?

I lightly trail my fingers over his hips as I walk around him. He shudders at the suddenly gentle touch after the rough way I fucked him.

Stopping in front of him, I ask, “Do you want to come, Scarecrow? Are you horny?”

He swallows before replying, “Yes.”

“Yes to which?”

“Both.”

I work my fingers underneath the shirt and feel his stomach muscles as he breathes. It seems enough to once again spoil his attempts to calm himself.

“How badly do you want to come?”

“Badly,” he admits.

“Only badly? You insult me, Scarecrow.”

He wants to say something, but swallows his words before quietly admitting, “So badly it's painful.”

“That's more like it. Let's see if you mean it.”

I remove the cage from his cock and he hisses when I touch his flesh. Yes, he is in pain alright. But it takes only a few strokes to overcome it and for his member to grow in my hand. Once he's fully erect, I withdraw my hand.

“You may come.”

I'm sure if he weren't blindfolded, he'd throw me a nasty look.

“You want to come – do it.”

“I – I can't.”

“Unless you have a medical problem I don't see any reason why you can't. You have a fine erection there, so what's stopping you?”

“You stopped stroking me.”

“So?”

“I can't come without touching.”

To his honor, he's not blushing. “Then you'd better learn.”

He groans.

“I could of course provide a different kind of help. But I'm not doing that for an enemy. And as far as I know that's what we still are.”

He shakes his head wearily, then sighs. “Okay, you got yourself a deal. Under the condition that you stop being so bloody selfish and see to my needs as well!”

“Deal.” I reach for his face and give him a hard kiss, forcing his lips apart so I can slip my tongue into his mouth. I pull away before he's recovered from my surprise attack. “And sealed.”

I walk to my bag once more and get out an anal vibrator. I walk back to him and remove the blindfold, then show him the item.

He blinks, looks at it, then at me. “Just do it.”

I smile. “That's the spirit.” I let him watch as I lube up the vibrator, then step around him and push it into his waiting hole. It'd be easier if he were sitting on it, but I'll hold it in place for now. With the toy's shape, its easy to find his sweet spot and he comes in less than a minute.

“Now look at the mess you made,” I chide him as I remove the vibrator. “I'm growing tired of cleaning up after you.” But I pick up all the discarded items and take them out to the table. Then I return and step on the chair to remove the carabiner from the ring. 

With a sigh, Scarecrow lets his arms drop. “I'd offer to help, but you brought this situation on, so it's your mess.”

“It won't be next time. And before I remove cuffs and collar, just one more thing, Scarecrow. Now that you've had your fun, we're talking business. And if I like what you're telling me, you'll get paid. Again.”

“I'm not sure my shoulders are up for another payment,” he says, trying to loosen his sore muscles.

“Do you consider me so unimaginative, Scarecrow?” I chide him. “I could string you up by your legs next time.”

“I'd have to change my mind about killing you at the first chance if you do that.” I look up from the cuffs I'm working on and meet his eyes. He's only half joking. Not that I expected anything else.


	6. Epilogue

Lee hurried into the IFF-building, greeted the receptionist in passing only, impatiently hammered on the call button for the lift hidden in the wardrobe. Once he reached the right underground floor, he hurried towards Melrose's office. Some people eyed him warily – admittedly he did look a little scruffy – but he paid them little attention. Francine was the first who to at least managed to momentarily slow him, though really she had tried to stop him in his tracks by reaching for his arm.

“My God, Lee, where've you been? We've been looking for you for days!”

“Long story, Francine.”

“I bet it is. You look bad.”

Lee hurried on. “Gee, thanks. Is Billy in?”

“Yes, but –“

“Great.” With a only few more strides, he reached Billy Melrose's door. Knocking and entering happened pretty much simultaneously.

Billy rose to admonish the intruder for storming in like that, but changed his mind when he saw just who was entering his office in such a hurry.

“Stetson! Where the heck have you been? We've got people out there looking for you!”

“Long story,” Lee said once more, holding up his hands to stop Billy from interrupting him. What he had to say couldn't wait. “Billy, you remember that talk we had after my last encounter with Tsar? It's happened.”

Billy's face lit up with interest. “He's approached you once more? I wasn't sure he would.”

“He did. I'm now a Russian double agent. I hope you've got some good stories ready for me to pass on.”

“We'll get right onto that.”

Francine, who had followed Lee into the office, just stood there, looking from one man to the other. “Would someone have the decency to explain what you're talking about?”

Lee turned to her, so elated with his news that he spread his arms wide as if to hug her. “I'm a double agent, Francine.” Her look stopped him from going through with the embrace, though.

“Lovely. Would you like me to arrest you on the spot?”

Billy laughed. “No need for that. Stetson is _pretending_ to be a double agent. Tsar had tried to turn him before, and of course Stetson reported the attempt. But as we talked it through, we realized that if he were not a _double_ , but really a _triple_ agent, we could feed the Russians fake intel.”

“Exactly. And he's approached me again.” Lee held up his hands, this time to stop Francine, who had opened her mouth to either reply or ask something. “Don't worry, I gave him a hard time _turning_ me. He believes it's real.”

“Of course you can't keep whatever the Russians are going to pay you, Stetson. No personal gain, you know the rules,” Billy said to dampen Lee's elation just a little, fearing his agent was close to opening the nearest window and shouting his news at the world in general. Not that there were any windows on the underground floor, but Lee's office had one.

Lee turned back to face him. “Ah, that's going to be a little tricky. You see, it's more of a … payment in kind.”

* * *

Three days later, Lee picked up his mail when he returned home from work. His eyes fell upon an envelope without stamp. He dropped the other letters on a side table and tore this one open. Inside he found a photograph of himself, hands chained above his head, wearing the black latex shirt, his cock standing to attention.

Lee groaned, but in some part of his brain he wondered why he was surprised. All that talk about trust? Bullshit.

He reached into the envelope once more and found a brief note.

_What a pretty boy you are, Scarecrow. I'm sure both your superiors and the press would greatly enjoy the sight as well. Which just happens to be the ultimate outcome if you should decide you want to kill me after all._

_Trust only goes so far, there's nothing like a little insurance._

_Do swidanja!_

There was no signature, but Lee didn't need one. Well, wasn't he lucky he intended to feed Tsar false intel instead of killing him? He'd definitely make plans for a little insurance for himself before their next meeting. This, Lee glanced at the photo again, was more information than anyone needed to have about the details of his deal with Tsar; definitely more than his report to Billy had included.

**Author's Note:**

> Babie, I hope this is what you wished for. As you deleted your letter before I had a chance to read it, you kept me guessing just like Tsar did with Lee, only offering so much information.


End file.
